Pandemic: Quietus: A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Fiction Series (The Pandemic Series Book 4)

by Bobby Akart

  He pushed the door open for her, extended his arm into the room and flipped on a light switch. The interior was designed like any Comfort Suites hotel room with a king-size bed, a television, a couple of dressers and a separate seating area complete with a desk.

  Mac hesitated before entering. A small bathroom was to her left next to a tiny closet. The room was small, sparsely decorated and impersonal. She missed Quandary Peak.

  “Here’s the best part,” said Dr. Spielman. He walked to the end of the room where floor-to-ceiling curtains were drawn closed. He pulled them open and more light filled the room. A ten-foot-wide, curved panel AQUOS television was mounted on a concrete wall behind a glass pane window. A continuous video loop of outdoor, nature scenes played. “It’s not the real thing, but it is a reminder that our world exists above here and that the good work we do on the floor above us is for a good cause—the American way of life.”

  Mac was creeped out. She wanted to leave now. She was prepared to dump her journal and vancomycin vials on the bed, race back through the three-mile-long hallway of doom, and burst onto the desolate runways above the Den.

  The American way of life? What does that mean?

  “Mac, I can see you’re a little overwhelmed,” said Dr. Spielman. “Why don’t you let me take the case to the lab while you take a hot bath and maybe a nap? We can continue this later. Like I said, we’ve got plenty of time.”

  No. No, we don’t.

  “I’m okay, Dr. Spielman. I’d rather continue, if you don’t mind. Listen, a moment ago, you made reference to we earlier.”

  “I’m sorry?” asked a confused Dr. Spielman.

  “Upstairs, or on the first, well, whatever. You said when we first arrived. Are there more of us from the CDC?”

  “Of course, let’s go upstairs,” he replied, pointing his finger upward, “to level 5 and I’ll show you the lab and the new CDC.”

  Chapter 40

  Day Ninety

  The Den

  Denver

  “By executive order, the President incorporated the Combat Casualty Care Research Program into the continuity-of-government plan,” started Dr. Spielman as he and Mac made their way to the elevator. “This opened up the CDC’s scope of responsibility beyond disease control to also include deployment of life-saving strategies, new surgical techniques, biological, and mechanical products.”

  They stepped into the elevator together and Mac asked, “Practically speaking, what does that mean?”

  “Well, a lot more work for me, for one. The CCCRP used to fall under the purview of the Army through the Institute of Surgical Research. The government has contracted considerably, for obvious reasons, and the various agencies within the military and under Washington’s control have now been consolidated where possible. For example, USAMRIID, your mother’s old stomping grounds, now falls under the newly constituted CDC.”

  Mac chuckled, trying to take her mind off conspiracy theories and back toward her purpose for being there. “That’s a lot of new responsibility, sir. I assume you got a hefty increase well beyond my GS-15.”

  Dr. Spielman let out a hearty laugh. “I made the mistake of asking that question when the Secretary of Health and Human Services came around to provide us an orientation. He said my raise was measured by my ability to stay alive. Nice, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Mac laughed. “Money’s worthless now anyway.”

  “For now, but at some point I’m sure they’ll make it up to us.”

  They exited the elevator and entered an empty hallway with double doors to their right and left. They were flanked with fake areca palms, plastic versions of the ones Mac recalled slapping her in the face that fateful day she walked through the rain-soaked forest in Guatemala. In a way, she felt she was venturing into the unknown again.

  “To the right are the administrative offices and conference rooms. To the left is the lab. Since you asked about the others, let’s go meet up with some of your old co-workers.”

  Dr. Spielman encouraged Mac to practice her entry through the secured locks and she did so flawlessly, earning her like an old pro accolades.

  He led the way and was briefly interrupted by a receptionist, who handed him two phone messages. He explained there was an intranet phone system tied directly to NORAD. It was used on an as-needed basis only and only by senior level department heads. Mac took that to mean phone privileges weren’t included in her compensation package.

  The hallway for the administrative wing of the CDC moved along the interior of the curved structure. Each floor’s walkway was open to the interior and the amenities, which were seen every fourth floor spanning the middle of the building. He finally reached another set of double doors, which led them into the new operations center. There, she was greeted with a familiar voice and a big smile.

  “Oh my gawd,” said Sandra Wilkinson, the eighteen-year veteran of the Office of Public Health Preparedness and Response and duty officer in the CDC’s former Division of Emergency Operations. She jumped up from her desk and ran to give Mac a hug. “Dearie, thank God you’re alive. This is such great news.”

  Mac laughed and returned the woman’s bear hug. “Yeah, last time I saw you I was being escorted out of the building. It’s so good to see you, Sandra.”

  “Honey, everybody knew that whole thing was a farce. Privately, we all cheered you on. Publicly, we were expected to ignore you, per instructions from you-know-who.”

  Mac glanced around the room at the faces who were observing the joyous reunion. She was looking for one face in particular.

  “Where is Baggett? Did he make the trip?” asked Mac.

  Dr. Spielman cleared his throat and casually walked away from the two of them toward a water cooler.

  “No, honey, he bit the dust,” replied Wilkinson. “During the riot, he tried to sneak out the back door and headed for his car. The mob found him and beat him to death. They stole his wallet, watch, and car in the process. It was an ugly way to go for an ugly man, I’m afraid.”

  “Whoa,” was Mac’s only response. She despised D-Bag, but she’d never wish that fate on anyone. She looked past Wilkinson and saw a young man waving in her direction. Her mind was fuzzy from the newness of it all and she was having difficulty placing the young man. He approached her from his station.

  “Dr. Hagan.” Henri le Pen introduced himself using the King’s proper English rather than his native French. “Do you remember me?”

  “Of course, Henri. I’m so glad to see you here safe and sound.”

  “Yes, it is interesting how we greet one another. Before, we might say how was your weekend? Now we greet a friendly face by saying glad to see you are alive. Incredible times, no?”

  “Yes, Henri. Most incredible.” Mac walked farther into the room and looked around. It was almost an exact replica of the Emergency Operations Center at CDC-Atlanta.

  Dr. Spielman returned to her side. “Remarkable, isn’t it?”

  “It’s almost like a clone of the former EOC,” replied Mac. “How did you do it?”

  He led her back toward the door and said, “Wait’ll you see the BSL-4. I’ll give you the background along the way.”

  Mac stopped and gave her old co-workers another hug. She whispered into Sandra’s ear, “I want to meet with you later. I have a lot of questions.”

  “As well you should, honey. My room is six-two-six, but don’t come tonight. It’s too soon. We’ll find each other tomorrow once your routine is established.”

  Mac, stunned by Wilkinson’s words, pulled away and acted nonchalant. “Bye, guys,” said Mac shyly. “I guess I’ll see you guys around.”

  As they walked out the door, Mac glanced back and saw Sandra whispering to Henri. Several other members of the staff approached the two of them immediately to inquire about her, Mac assumed. She looked forward to her visit with Wilkinson the next day.

  Dr. Spielman led Mac around the entire floor occupied by the CDC until they reached the lab. Again, he urged her to open the doors
on her own, which she did. Her world opened up before her eyes.

  Unlike the administrative offices, all of the walls were made of thick glass. The space was divided between a research laboratory, the BSL-4, and several workspaces and meeting rooms. At the moment, the laboratories were unoccupied, but she did see mice in cages lined up along the far wall.

  “Primates?” asked Mac as she stared into the rooms.

  “I wish,” replied Dr. Spielman. “All we have to work with are typical laboratory mice. I’m working on making primates available to us before we consider human trials. It’s a process, you know.”

  “Hey, there’s Michelle!” noted Mac. Through the glass, in the research laboratory, she spotted Jamaican-born CEFO Michelle Watson, who headed up the team tracing back the origins of the young teen who died in Greece after traveling there from Libya. They exchanged waves and big smiles.

  “There are others scattered throughout the floor, Dr. Hagan. Over time, I don’t doubt you’ll run across them all. Let me show you to the office I’ve been saving for someone like yourself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dr. Spielman gestured to an open office, which was beautifully decorated. It contained mahogany furniture, was adorned with upscale décor, and had a seating area including a sofa.

  “This is pretty fancy,” said Mac. “Are you saying this is for me?”

  “Maybe, it depends. We’ll spend some time together over the next several days and then you’ll have to tell me whether all of this is right for you.” Spielman waved his arm around the room and back toward the hallway.

  “Well, of course, I don’t know. I mean, it’s all very impressive, even though I’d have to get over living like a mole in the ground. But, Dr. Spielman, I have my mom and dad. Then there’s Janie. And Hunter, he’s my, well, boyfriend and I love him.”

  Dr. Spielman sat in the chair across from her desk. He pointed toward the executive chair, which awaited an occupant. “Take it for a test drive.”

  Mac set the case containing the vancomycin on the desk, releasing her hold on it for the first time since she’d left Star Ranch hours ago. She slowly sat in the chair and swiveled around a little bit just to get the feel of it.

  Dr. Spielman continued. “Of course, Janie is welcome to join us and I hope you’ll convince her to do so. Your parents, it is my understanding, will be offered a home within Star Ranch. As for Sergeant Hunter, I’m sure there will be a place for him within the military arm of the government, but I’m not so sure he’s needed here. My guess is a man of his capability would become extremely bored handling security duties at the Den.”

  He knows about Hunter and his capabilities?

  “Sir, he is very important to me,” said Mac. “I’m not sure I could function without him.”

  “Listen,” started Dr. Spielman as he rose out of the chair. “We have a lot of important details to discuss, not the least of which is contained in this case.” He took it into his hands.

  Mac felt a jolt run through her body, a twinge of seller’s remorse. Why is my gut screaming WARNING at me?

  PART THREE

  WEEK FOURTEEN

  Chapter 41

  Day Ninety-One

  West of Colorado Springs

  At Hunter’s suggestion, Captain Hoover spread the four Humvees across both sides of the divided highway and had them separate, leaving plenty of distance so the snipers who were perched on the cliffs of Cavern Gulch a week ago couldn’t get clear shots at all four vehicles at once. Hunter, who distinctly recalled the sniper’s positions, exited his Humvee and walked behind the lead vehicle, which included a manned fifty-caliber on top.

  Hunter was provided a ten-round magazine with tracer rounds for his AR-10. He intended to fire upon the positions on both sides of the road to identify the locations, and if fire was returned, the soldier operating the Ma Deuce would light them up.

  The Humvee moved to the far right shoulder of the highway to avoid two dead bodies rotting in the road. Hunter grimaced as he recognized them from the group leaving Colorado Springs. These two didn’t follow his advice to seek the relative safety of the Cave of the Winds Park. They were murdered and they had nothing to give their killers.

  The convoy was now into the kill zone created by the snipers. His Defender had been ransacked. All the doors were open, the glove box contents had been thrown onto the seats, and the windows had been shattered out of petulant anger.

  He looked through his scope to observe any signs of movement on either side of the canyon walls. It was completely still. He tapped on the back of the Humvee, a signal advising them to stop. Hunter gave instructions to the soldier, who kept his weapon trained on the cliffs.

  “I’m gonna fire two rounds into each of the positions. First left and then right, in order to get a reaction. If they’re up there, they’ll return fire, so be ready.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The loud report of Hunter’s rifle destroyed the silence. His first two rounds shattered rock and dirt where the sniper had been killed on Hunter’s last pass through Cavern Gulch. Nothing.

  He quickly moved to the other side of the Humvee and shot in the general direction of where the other sniper was perched the week before. Again, no response.

  Hunter provided direction to the soldiers. “It appears they’ve moved on. Let’s continue slowly through the canyon’s divide for about a mile. They may have taken up new positions, but I don’t see any new, disabled vehicles. Once we reach the opening on the west end, it’s pretty much clear sailing to Fairplay and Route 9.”

  The four-truck convoy continued, taking nearly twenty minutes to clear Cavern Gulch and the graveyard of bodies and vehicles left behind. Hunter tried to stay sharp, but his mind wandered to what had become of humanity. He continued to scan both sides of the roads with the intent to identify shooters, but instead his eyes focused on the death and depravity resulting from their murderous activity.

  What is it about human nature that prevents us from helping one another rather than committing atrocities like this? Are we naturally violent and prone to fight one another?

  Given the long, awful history of violence between varied groups of people, it was easy to think humans were predisposed to war. For three months, Hunter had seen what man could do to one another—unspeakable things, beyond the ravishing of the population as a result of the plague.

  Is it a natural result of our advanced technology, which produced weapons of mass destruction beyond the comprehension of man a century ago?

  Hunter chuckled to himself as he considered the tools of war used in World War I. Rifles and machine guns were most common, with artillery and mortar considered the newest technology. The aircraft were lucky to fly, much less have a considerable impact. Just a century later, a single tick of the clock in the history of mankind, many nations of the world possessed rockets that could leave earth’s atmosphere and return with a vengeance, annihilating the entire population of some countries with a single nuclear bomb.

  Did we use this technology to deter one another, or to outgun our enemies?

  Hunter immediately recalled conversations with Mac about the plague and other infectious diseases. A tiny bacterium or virus, a silent, deadly enemy only one-billionth our size, possessed the killing ability of all the nuclear weapons on the planet. With a nudge from man, the plague bacteria was propelling itself across the planet toward a sixth extinction-level event, yet individuals focused their cruel intentions on murdering innocents as they tried to find a way to survive.

  “Sir, it appears we’ve made it through to where the highway is clear,” said the soldier, who brought Hunter out of deep thought.

  “Yeah, okay. Hang on,” Hunter responded and jogged back to the Humvee carrying Captain Hoover and his superior officer, Colonel Frank Clements.

  Captain Hoover flung the door open behind the driver of their Humvee, inviting Hunter to join them.

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” offered Colonel Clements. “That was a disgusti
ng display of what’s wrong with this world.”

  “Yes, it was,” added Hunter. He leaned forward to address the driver. “We shouldn’t have any problems from here to Fairplay. There are a few towns, but they’ve been abandoned, or the people have all died. The lead vehicles should be aware of an ambush, but it was clear a week ago.”

  The Humvees roared ahead and the group rode in silence for twenty minutes. A sign indicating they’d entered the city limits of Fairplay caused the drivers to slow and raise their awareness levels. At the roadblock, which was maintained by Sheriff Williams and another man who was not in uniform, Hunter exited the Humvee and conducted a quick conversation with the sheriff.

  He explained what had happened to the deputy on the way to Colorado Springs. When the deputy hadn’t returned, they’d sent out two truckloads of men to find him. They had encountered the group who had just killed the man and woman walking up the highway. The sheriff’s men chased them into the scrub brush and down a ravine, where they executed them all. As Sheriff Williams put it, my jail may be empty, but it’s too good for vermin like that.

  Sheriff Williams asked Hunter why he was being escorted by four Humvees. Hunter tried to respond, but found himself at a loss for words, as he didn’t have a good answer. While it was true there were potential obstacles along the way, such as Cavern Gulch or an encounter with the Vagos bikers, Hunter hadn’t voiced those concerns to Sheriff Williams when they’d passed through Fairplay the first time. In reality, Hunter didn’t know why he was being accompanied by the colonel and all of the guardsmen.

  He returned to the Humvee with a puzzled look on his face, as well as a very big question on his mind. He decided to bring it up as soon as they were on their way.

  “So, Colonel, I appreciate the ride up here to speak with my group, but I have to ask something,” started Hunter. The colonel didn’t reply and stared at the vehicle leading them up Route 9 toward Breckenridge. Hunter glanced in the direction of Captain Hoover, who he’d just realized had remained silent the entire trip. Hunter pressed the issue. “In addition to you and Captain Hoover, there are fifteen soldiers in this mission and three Humvees with a potent accessory mounted on their tops. Isn’t this a little bit of overkill?”